


The Thin Man Takes a Husband

by Diana Williams (dkwilliams)



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/Diana%20Williams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mistaken encounter plunges Timothy Callahan into an adventure, as he pretends to be married to the fascinating detective, Donald Strachey, in order to protect an elderly woman from a mysterious threat</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for all four movies.
> 
> Written for Celli

"I'm sorry, Mr. Calhoun. I don't seem to have a reservation in your name."

Timothy closed his eyes briefly and took a calming breath. "It's Callahan," he said, for the second time. "Look, I'm supposed to be meeting someone. It's possible that the reservation is in his name."

"And his name is?"

"I don't know," Timothy confessed. "It's a blind date, set up by a friend."

The hostess smiled widely. "Ah! That explains everything. Mr. Strachey is waiting in the bar, if you'd like to join him."

Right now, a drink sounded like a good idea, so Timothy nodded and followed the hostess into the bar area. He was surprised by the man she led him to - not that he wasn't an attractive man, because he was, but also a little rough around the edges. This was not at all the kind of man Sylvia had tried to set him up with in the past, which was a hopeful sign because he'd always been bored stiff before the main course even arrived.

"Timothy Callahan," he said, holding his hand out as the man on the barstool turned toward him.

"About time," the man said, obvious irritation in his voice. "I thought you weren't going to show. Didn't Pete tell you how important this is?"

Timothy blinked. "I'm sorry but - "

"That's all right," the man said, giving him a quick once-over. "Pete really came through for once. You're incredibly easy on the eyes, Timmy; that'll make this whole thing easier."

Timothy frowned. What on earth had Sylvia told this man, and who was Pete? "I'm afraid you have the wrong idea, Mr...Strachey, is it?"

"Donald," the man said, waving his hand in dismissal. "And Pete made it very clear that this was dinner only, no sex. Which reminds me..." He took Timothy's right hand in his, slipping a plain gold wedding band on his ring finger. "Now, I don't know how much Pete told you, but we're meeting Michael and his mother here, and it's vital that we make a good first impression. The old lady has a real soft spot for gay couples, especially newly-weds."

Timothy had been getting increasingly more bewildered as Donald talked, and now he held up a hand. "Look, I don't know who you are but - "

"Just don't let on to Michael's mother," Donald said, and then abruptly straightened. "Here's Michael. Come on!"

Timothy found his hand grabbed and he was pulled along behind a man he was fast becoming convinced was a raving lunatic. Before he could do something undignified like yelling for help, however, he was released so that `Donald' could shake hands with a stunning young man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Michael," Donald said as they clasped hands. "You look good. Is your mother here?"

Michael nodded. "She's grilling the valet but she'll be right in." He leaned forward and, in a low voice, added, "There's been another."

Donald frowned. "Did you bring it with you?" Michael nodded and surreptitiously slipped him a piece of paper which Donald slid into his pocket just as a matronly woman entered the restaurant. One whom Timothy was all too familiar with, he realized with alarm as Michael turned to her with a smile.

"Mother, look who I ran into! This is my old college friend, Donald Strachey."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kerrigan," Donald said smoothly, extending his hand. "Michael mentioned you often. May I introduce my husband - "

"Timothy!" Mrs. Kerrigan said, a broad smile creasing her face. "My dear boy! I was telling your mother at the Dellaroy's cocktail party that it's been far too long since we'd seen you."

Numbly, Timothy said, "They've been keeping me pretty busy at work."

"Not _too_ busy, I see," Mrs. Kerrigan said, a twinkle in her eye as she looked between him and Donald. "Are you dining here as well?"

"We were," Donald said, giving her what Timothy had to admit was a charming smile, layered with chagrin. "I forgot to make reservations and with the Sunday crowd..." He shrugged. "Guess we'll just head home and heat up left-overs. We still have that Chinese take-out from last night, don't we, sweetheart?"

Mrs. Kerrigan made a disapproving noise. "You young men and your eating habits! You'll dine with us." Donald started to protest but she held up her hand. "I won't take no for an answer. This way, Tim, you can tell me all about you and your lovely young man."

Timothy grabbed Donald's arm, hard, and Donald gave him a brief look before smiling at Mrs. Kerrigan. "Can you give us just a moment? I'm afraid I'm in disgrace with Timmy and I need to apologize."

"Of course," she said, tucking her hand in her son's arm. "We'll just get the table."

Once they had turned away, Timothy dragged Donald around the corner to the men's room. Donald smirked at him as the door closed behind them.

"I thought you said no sex - hey wait!" Donald's eyes widened as Timothy pushed him up against a wall.

"What in hell are you up to?" Timothy demanded. "Never mind - I can pretty well guess, and I won't be any part of a scheme to swindle that sweet old lady! Who, by the way, has known me since I was a child?"

Donald held up his hands. "Easy, Timmy. I'm a private investigator, hired by Michael Kerrigan. You can check the I.D. in my pocket if you don't believe me."

Timothy studied his face for a moment but he didn't seem to be lying, so he let the man go. "Why did Michael hire a private investigator? Is he - is she - in trouble?"

"Not exactly." Donald straightened his suit and tie. "If you know Mrs. Kerrigan, then you know she gives a party for her son's birthday every year. Ever since he came out, she's made it a point to invite the best and brightest among gay Albany."

Timothy nodded; he'd been invited a few times himself, although he'd never been able to attend because of other obligations.

"For the past month, she's been receiving threatening letters, saying that if she holds the party, something bad is going to happen. She refuses to cancel or go to the police, _or_ hire protection - in fact, she's decided to make a full weekend of it. So Michael came to me. We have, um, mutual friends, and he asked me if I could come to the party, to keep an eye on things. Only if I just show up, his mother might get suspicious - and whoever is doing this as well. So we came up with this idea and, as I said earlier, she has a soft spot for newly-weds, so that's why I hired you." Donald frowned. "You _are_ Pete's actor friend, aren't you?"

"I don't know anyone named Pete, and no, I'm not an actor," Timothy said dryly. "I was supposed to meet someone here, a blind date set up by a friend."

Donald scowled. "Well, damn. It looks like my actor stood me up after all. I'm screwed. Unless..." He gave Timothy a hopeful look, and he relentlessly squashed the thought that it was rather endearing. "You wouldn't be willing to play along, just for tonight? I was planning to come up with an excuse to go alone next weekend, so this won't take more than a couple hours of your time, and you'd at least get dinner out of it."

Timothy hesitated; his date hadn't shown up, after all. "Well...."

Donald smiled at him, a brilliant smile that made Timothy blink even as his heartbeat quickened in reaction. "Thanks. Oh, and just how do you know Mrs. Kerrigan?"

"It's my parents, actually," Timothy admitted. "My father's a state senator, as was her late husband although they were on opposite sides of the aisle, so they run in the same social circles. I saw the Kerrigans at the occasional political fundraiser, and family events at Christmas and Easter."

Donald appeared to digest this for a moment. "Do your parents know? About you and...?" He made a vague circular hand motion. "This isn't going to get you into trouble, is it?"

Timothy shook his head. "I told them years ago." He took a deep breath. "All right. I'll do it. Just for tonight, though."

 

*****************

The Kerrigans were already seated when they returned to the dining room. The waiter came to get their drink order and they both said, "Martini," at the same time, and then smiled at each other.

"So Timothy," Mrs. Kerrigan said, a twinkle in her eye as she studied the two of them. "I had no idea you were dating anyone, much less that you were this serious. Married!"

"It was a surprise for me as well," Timothy said dryly. "I suppose you could say that Donald swept me off my feet."

"What can I say?" Donald said, propping his head on his hand and smirking at Timothy. "Timmy was hard to resist. I didn't even try."

"So long have you been married?"

"Four - " Donald began.

"Two weeks," Timothy interjected smoothly. "We've been dating four months, and two weeks ago we decided we were serious, so we had a private commitment ceremony." He held up his right hand, flashing his ring. "I haven't told Mom and Dad yet; I want them to meet Donald first, when they get back from Paris."

"Yes, they said they were taking a second honeymoon over the recess when I saw them at Senator Wright's party last month," she said with a nod.

"I know they'll love Donald as much as I do."

"Of course they will," Mrs. Kerrigan said warmly. "In the meantime, do you have any plans for next weekend?"

Timothy released his hand as Donald said, with a shrug, "Just the usual housework and shopping."

"It's Michael's birthday and I always host a party at my place in Saratoga. This year we're making a full weekend of it, and I think it would be great fun if you could come." Her eyes twinkled at Timothy. "I've been trying to get this young man to come for years, but he's such a busy boy."

Donald appeared to mull it over. "I don't know. It would be nice to have a chance to catch up with Michael but....Timmy, what do you think? Is there anything we have to do this weekend?"

Timothy managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. If anyone was cut out to be an actor, it was Donald. "Nothing we can't put off for another week." He smiled at Mrs. Kerrigan. "We'd love to come for the weekend."

"Then it's settled," Mrs. Kerrigan said briskly. "Now - what is everyone going to order?"

 

*****************

They watched the Kerrigans drive off and then Donald turned to Timothy, holding out his hand. "Thanks for your help, Timmy. I really appreciate it."

Timothy shook his head. "You won't be able to do it alone. Any excuse you come up with for going alone is going to look suspicious. Even if we claim that I have to work, you'll look like a heel for going to a weekend party without me."

Donald dropped his hand, cocked his head, and looked up at Timothy curiously. "Are you volunteering to come along to maintain my cover?"

Timothy bit his lip, wondering if he was crazy for contemplating just that. "Will it be dangerous?"

Donald appeared to consider that for a moment, then jerked his thumb in the direction of a beat-up looking car. "It's probably less dangerous than going for a drive in this city."

Timothy raised an eyebrow. "In that car? I would definitely say _that's_ more life-threatening."

"Then you don't want a lift home? Or did you bring your own car?"

"I don't have one at present," Timothy admitted. "I'll just get a cab."

Donald walked over to the car and opened the door. "Or you could just accept a lift. I promised that I wouldn't make any untoward advances, so you don't need to worry about your virtue."

"I'm not. I'm worried about riding in that death trap."

"Sissy," Donald teased. Timothy gave him a dark look but got into the car, wincing as Donald slammed the door with what seemed unnecessary force.

Donald got in and, after getting Timothy's address, he finally replied to Timothy's earlier question. "I don't know if this is dangerous," he said frankly. "It depends on whoever is threatening Mrs. Kerrigan and why. And on whether I catch him or her."

"And do you think you will? Just how good a private investigator are you?"

Donald gave him an amused half-smile. "Damn good. I've been in business for myself for over a year and I haven't lost a case." He pulled up in front of Timothy's apartment building and half-turned in the seat. "Look, why don't you think about it for a couple days? We can meet for dinner Tuesday night, talk about it a little more, and you can make your mind up then."

Timothy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He should definitely take some time to think this over, calmly, sensibly, and away from Donald. "All right."

Donald gave him another of his brilliant smiles and, as he drove off, Timothy stood on the sidewalk and watched him, thinking, _my God, he is hot._

  
 


	2. Chapter 2

Timothy had never been to the club where Donald suggested meeting, which wasn't surprising as it wasn't a place where his usual 'type' would think of taking him. It was the kind of smoky club that Marlowe or Spade would have frequented, and he fell in love with it immediately. The singer was crooning a bluesy number, the lighting was subdued and intimate - and Donald was sitting at the bar with two martini glasses in front of him. Timothy smiled and headed in his direction.

Donald picked up a battered looking coat that had been saving a place for him, and Timothy was torn between thrill that it was _exactly_ what Sam Spade would have worn, and disgust that it was clearly overdue for cleaning. Then Donald looked up with that infectious grin and Timothy couldn't help smiling back.

"I was beginning to think I'd been stood up - again." Donald gestured to the bartender, holding up two fingers, and Timothy realized that the glasses in front of him were empty.

"I apologize for my tardiness. It was hard to get a taxi, with the rain."

Donald tilted his head, chewing on a toothpick as he studied Timothy. "I like the way you talk."

Timothy paused in the process of shedding his own immaculate but wet coat and blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's classy, and smart. Like that lady in 'The Thin Man'."

"Nora Charles?" Timothy supposed that there were worse people he could be compared to and gave Donald an amused look. "Does that make you Nick, then?"

"Hell, no," Donald said, accepting his new martini from the bartender and taking a swallow. "I could never pull off that suave and debonair act. Wouldn't mind having the dog, though."

He extracted the olive from his drink and ate it - which explained the toothpicks he'd been chewing. Donald Strachey obviously had an oral fixation - and Timothy firmly cut off that line of thought before it could go anywhere.

"Have you made up your mind about this weekend?" Donald asked.

"Not entirely." Timothy took a sip of his martini, then set it down and pulled a small notebook out of his pocket.

Donald eyed the notebook. "I thought that _I_ was the gumshoe."

"If I'm to make up my mind, there are certain questions I need answered," Timothy said, opening the notebook and uncapping his pen. "And there are things I need to know about _you_ in order to pull this off."

"Oh, God," Donald muttered. He finished off the martini and gestured for another. When it arrived, he drained half of it and then took a deep breath. "All right. Shoot."

"You said you've been in business for a year and haven't lost a case. How many cases, precisely, is that?"

"Six."

"Six?"

"Seven, including this one." He drank the rest of his martini and said, defensively, "It's not easy getting started in a new town. It takes time, word of mouth."

"Then you're not from around here?"

Donald shook his head. "No. Born and raised in New Jersey. Spent my apprenticeship with a big agency in the City before moving up here and opening my own office."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Donald signaled for another martini for each of them. "Why my own business?" Timothy nodded and Donald shrugged. "I like being my own boss, making my own rules, deciding what kind of cases I want to take."

"And what kind of cases have you had so far? Murders? Thefts? Missing jewels? Lost heirs?"

Donald grinned at him. "You've been reading too much Sherlock Holmes, Nora. Nah, most of the stuff I do is domestic work." Timothy gave him a puzzled look and he clarified, "Following cheating spouses and taking pictures." He shrugged. "It's not missing jewels and spooky hounds, but it's a living."

Fearing that he'd erred in the good-manners department, Timothy said hastily, "Of course it is. And I suppose that sort of work has to be done by someone."

Donald gave him a sharp look. "You think it's not right, spying on people like that, don't you?" Timothy started to deny it but he knew the blush in his cheeks gave it away. "Maybe, but I figure that if they're going to cheat, they deserve to get caught. If you're lucky enough to be able to get married, and if you love someone enough to want to spend the rest of your life with them, then the least you can do is be faithful. If you can't, then don't get married or at least have the guts to call it quits."

It was Timothy's turn to eye Donald sharply. "Who was it? An old boyfriend?"

"Not me - strictly a one-night-stand kinda guy," Donald said and then stared into his glass. "My dad. The bastard cheated on Mom right and left, but she never saw. Or pretended not to see. And then he had the gall to call _me_ names and toss me out of the house."

He drained the rest of his glass and looked over at Timothy, a challenging look in his eyes that dared him to say something. But he'd cut his teeth on politics and diplomacy and knew when to change the subject.

"Another?" he asked, pointing to the empty martini glass, and Donald visibly relaxed, giving him a sweet, almost shy smile that did something not altogether unpleasant to Timothy's libido.

"Gotta run to the can," Donald said, standing up and placing his coat on the seat. "Be right back - and I promise to answer the rest of your questions without getting all riled up."

Timothy smiled and ordered them more drinks, taking a moment to glance over his notes. He was so absorbed in reading them that a voice next to his ear made him jump. "I prefer dogs to cats, I like children as long as they're someone else's, and my new favorite color is blue, like your eyes."

He looked around to see Donald smiling at him, mischief glinting in his eyes, and fought back a blush. "You're back," he said, and then blushed even more at the obviousness of that remark. "I got you another drink."

"Thanks." Donald picked up his coat and dumped it back on his lap as he sat down, then picked up his drink and took a sip.

Timothy's cell phone rang and he glanced at the number, then sighed. "Sorry, I have to take this. I'll be back in a moment."

Donald smiled and nodded, and Timothy flipped open his phone, trying to listen as he made his way to the relative quiet of the hallway. It was the assistant to the assemblyman they both worked for, and once again he'd "accidentally" misplaced the information Timothy had painstakingly collected for a new bill slated for discussion when the Assembly reconvened. He promised to forward another copy to both the assemblyman and his aide that evening, and closed his phone with a sigh. He liked politics, but he was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the stances his boss was taking, and his assistant was downright unpleasant to work with. He really needed to think about finding another position.

Tabling that thought for now, he walked back into the club - and found another man sitting in his seat, talking to Donald. A young, _attractive_ man dressed in bike leathers who was leaning a little too close to Donald - not that he seemed to mind. In fact, Donald was laughing and looking very interested in what he was saying. Timothy's mouth tightened and he nearly turned and walked out except for two things: one, this was a case and not a date and two, he'd left his coat with Donald.

Deliberately, he made his way over to Donald and paused beside the now-occupied seat. "Donald?" he said, and if there was a touch of frost in his voice, it was because this stranger was in his seat, not because he was jealous.

The young biker looked up and grinned at Timothy, then looked back at Donald. "Thanks again, man," he said, getting up, and with a nod to Timothy, he sauntered off towards the doorway.

Timothy watched him for a moment, and then turned back to Donald. "Friend of yours?"

Donald shrugged, playing with the toothpick in his mouth. "Friend of a former client."

"Was the client the cheater or the cheatee?" Timothy asked, debating whether to reclaim his coat and leave. Really, how could they hope to pretend to be a devoted couple for the weekend if Donald started flirting with strangers the minute his back was turned?

"Neither," Donald said shortly. "It was a _pro bono_ job: client was getting harassing phone calls and letters, threatened with gay-bashing, the usual."

That put a different slant on things. "And you found out who was doing it?" Timothy sat down and as the bartender set down a fresh drink, he picked it up.

Donald shrugged dismissively. "Yeah. That guy is a friend of a friend of Michael's, which is how I got _this_ job, which is not _pro bono_. And that's good because I need the cash or else I'm sleeping on the street."

Timothy blinked at the casualness with which he said that, literally struck dumb. Donald didn't seem to have a similar problem and he waggled his eyebrows as he said, "So - more questions?"

"Yes," Timothy stammered, looking down at his notepad for a moment as he tried to organize his wayward thoughts.

"Earlier, when I asked 'why', you told me why you opened your own agency, but not why you did that here. So - why Albany?"

Donald shrugged. "It looked like a good place to set up shop, although if I'd known about the winters, I'd have moved to the Keys instead. I'm already licensed in New York, and there's not too many other gay P.I.s in the area. In fact, I'm the only one. It gives me...unique opportunities."

"Such as crashing the birthday party of the gay son of one of Albany's most prominent social matrons?" Timothy said archly.

Donald gave him an amused smile. "Such as. Should be a hell of a party." He finished off his current martini and signaled for another.

"Better slow down or you'll be taking a cab home," Timothy warned, trying to mentally count how many drinks Donald had had.

Donald shrugged. "I live around the corner and walked here, so that's not a problem. Besides, I have a hard head." He cocked an eyebrow at Timothy. "What about you, Timothy Callahan? Callahan: good Irish name so you probably can hold your liquor."

Timothy nodded, smiling slightly. "I can, although I don't usually overindulge. So maybe not a Nora Charles?"

"You've been asking a lot of questions about me - mind if I do the same?"

His throat felt suddenly dry and he took a long swallow of his drink. "All right."

Donald tilted his head, studying him with eyes that seemed suddenly sharp, despite the alcohol he'd imbibed. "I'm guessing you're a good Catholic boy, despite your disagreement with Church doctrine, and a Republican. You're in local politics, too, but behind the scenes - an aide of some sort. You're not in a relationship or you wouldn't have been on a date, but you were and it recently ended, although amicably. How close am I?"

Timothy's mouth had dropped open with surprise; with an effort, he closed it and said, "Very, very close. How...?"

Donald grinned. "I _am_ a detective. As for how...you know my methods, Watson."

Timothy frowned in thought. "I'd confirmed that I was Irish, so the Catholic wasn't much of a stretch, although my stance in regard to the Church was surely a guess. But Republican?"

"On Sunday, when we met, you were wearing a lapel pin and I got a close look - Saint Ignatius, I believe. Easy to _guess_ that you'd been to church earlier that day. The late Senator Kerrigan was a Democrat and his wife said that your father was on the opposite side of the aisle, ergo Republican. And you have a staff pass for the state Assembly parking lot."

"All right, yes. I'm a research assistant to one of the Republican assemblymen," Timothy admitted. "But the relationship part - _that_ was a guess."

Donald grinned, shaking his head. "You're just enough out of touch with dating rituals to not have thought about them till recently, but you're not bitter about being back in the single's pool. You're also not looking around the room on the off-chance that he might be here, so I would guess that he moved elsewhere and you decided not to go along."

Timothy laughed and closed up his notebook, sticking it in his pocket. "You're right - you _are_ a good detective."

"Does that mean you're going to accompany me this weekend?" Donald asked, toying with his martini glass.

"Depends on whether or not fourteen martinis a night is a regular thing for you," Timothy said dryly.

Donald gave him an indignant look. "It wasn't fourteen, it was seven. Maybe eight." He gave Timothy that sweet, almost shy smile again. "You made me nervous, taking notes."

"I believe in thorough research," Timothy said primly.

Donald grinned. "Of course you do."

They stood up and headed toward the door, and Donald paused outside on the sidewalk. "So - should I pick you up on Friday?"

"I'll pick _you_ up," Timothy said firmly, thinking about Donald's car with a shudder. "I'll rent a car and meet you...where?"

Donald pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to him. "My office address, and my phone number is on it as well. In case you change your mind."

Timothy met Donald's eyes. "I won't change my mind. And I'll see you Friday afternoon."

He hailed a cab and as it pulled away from the curb, he only looked back once, and it wasn't to catch a sight of the smile on Donald's face.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Timothy almost called the number a dozen times between then and Friday, certain that either he or Donald or possibly both were crazy. He wasn't sure why he didn't (and it certainly wasn't the memory of Donald's smile).

On Friday, he picked up the rental car and drove over to Crow Street. Donald's office was on the second floor and, as he opened the door, he couldn't help feeling a mixture of delight and disgust. Delight, because the office was like something out of "The Maltese Falcon" and he nearly expected to see Humphrey Bogart sitting at the desk. Disgust, because the place looked like it had only a passing acquaintance with a cleaning crew. The trash can was overflowing with empty take-out boxes and the secretary's desk was strewn with a combination of empty pizza boxes and newspapers. What appeared to be the P.I.'s desk was in better shape; it was covered in folders and paper but they looked to be in some sort of order, which at least reassured him that Donald was a competent businessman.

Of whom there was no sign. "Donald?" he called out.

A door to what he'd thought was a closet opened and Donald stood there, obviously in the process of changing his tie. "You're early, Timmy. Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"You know, no one except my mother calls me `Timmy'," he said pointedly.

Donald just grinned. "Good. That should help me stand out from all the rest."

Timothy raised his eyebrows. "And just how many do you think `all the rest' encompasses?"

Donald gave him a speculative look. "Well, obviously not too many since you were meeting a blind date at the restaurant - which makes me worried about the intelligence of gay men in Albany, because you are seriously hot."

Timothy felt ridiculously pleased. "You think I'm hot?" And then he blushed as he realized how that sounded.

Donald's grin widened and he deliberately and thoroughly checked Timothy over. "Definitely."

Timothy felt his blushes threaten to overwhelm him; he ducked his head, cleared his throat, and looked desperately around the room in search of something to turn the conversation away from the personal. He saw a battered duffle bag sitting on the couch, on top of a rumpled blanket, and gestured at it.

"You're ready to go, then?"

Donald nodded. "Didn't take much time for me to pack," he said, gesturing around.

Timothy blinked at the implications of that. "You live here?"

"It's cheaper than an apartment, and being a freelance investigator isn't making me rich," Donald said with a shrug. "Besides, I don't have a lot of stuff."

"I'm not judging - " Timothy said hastily.

"It doesn't matter." He hefted the bag over his shoulder in a practiced manner. "Ready to go?"

 

*****************

They drove in silence until they reached the interstate heading north, as Timothy tried to think of something to break the discomfort between them. He didn't know why it was important to do so, although he told himself that their pretense of being a couple would be more difficult if it was obvious they weren't talking.

Which gave him an idea. "This case," he said, and then winced when he realized how loud his voice was in the silence. "Have you come across any leads on who might be threatening Mrs. Kerrigan?"

"A couple, but you wouldn't be interested."

"I would," Timothy said hastily. "Really. I love the old whodunit movies - Sam Spade, Nick and Nora Charles, all of them. It will be fascinating to see a detective in action."

"Well, I don't know how fascinating it'll be," Donald said but he relaxed in his seat. "Most investigative work is routine and boring, but I'll tell you what I know.

"According to what I've found so far, Mrs. Kerrigan doesn't have any real enemies, apart from a few other society hostesses who might do a lot to topple her from perch at the top of the pile but I can't see any of them resorting to threatening letters."

"More likely to sabotage her caterers," Timothy agreed. "And infinitely more successful."

"That sounds like the voice of experience, and I'm not going to ask," Donald said with a grin. "Other than disgruntled matrons, the only other person of note is a neighbor, Orville Wheaton. They've been having disputes over the property line between them for years, squabbles that have involved a little petty vandalism on both sides. Still, threatening her party seems unlikely - there isn't anything to be gained.

"Her husband had a few political enemies, but he's been dead for two years, so there's not much point in anyone carrying on a grudge with him and applying it to his family. And from what I've heard, he was one of the good guys, honest in his dealings, supportive of his constituents, and loyal to his friends."

"He was," Timothy said, thinking back over things he'd heard his father say around the dinner table. "The only people I ever heard about him getting angry with were hypocrites and liars. What about Michael? Does he have any enemies? Rivals, old lovers, anyone who might want to spoil his birthday?"

Donald nodded. "That's a possibility I've been looking into. So far, his few past lovers recall him fondly, no terrible break-ups or bad feelings. He has a degree in Political Science and has been working the Albany office of the ESPA."

"Michael always wanted to follow his father into politics," Timothy said with a nod. "It caused a bit of a furor when he came out, although his parents were very supportive. They were of great help to my parents when I came out myself, a couple years later."

"Any associates of his father who might not have been pleased that he had a gay son?"

"Well, of course," Timothy admitted. "There's no dearth of bigoted people on either side of the aisle. There might have also been some constituents who were not happy, but Senator Kerrigan has been dead for two years so what would be the point?"

"Some people have long memories," Donald said, "but I agree that it seems unlikely."

They arrived at the Kerrigan mansion shortly after that, and Timothy turned the car over to the household staff. As they started to enter the house, Timothy caught Donald's arm. "Just a minute," he said and undid Donald's messy tie, then redid it neatly. "There. Mrs. Kerrigan would never believe I'd let you out of the house with your tie like that."

Donald grinned at him. "Thank you, dear."

Mrs. Kerrigan was waiting for them and embraced them both warmly. "Timothy! It's so good to have you here again. And Donald - it's all due to you, and you are now my very favorite person."

Timothy pointedly avoided looking at Donald, sure that he'd be looking smug. "We're both glad to be here."

"Now, most of our guests are staying in the cottages, but you're my special guests so I've put you in the Blue Suite here in the house," she said, slipping her hands into the crooks of their arms. "It's right down the hall from my room, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"We won't," Donald promised. "Can you tell us the schedule for the weekend?"

"Tonight is very casual as people will be arriving until late. We're serving cocktails and nibbles in the main salon from seven till midnight. Then tomorrow, following breakfast, we have lots of delightful activities planned, culminating in the birthday dinner and dance. Sunday morning, I know everyone will want to sleep in and recover from the partying, so we're having a casual brunch from ten till one. And here you are," she added, opening a door at the top of the stairs. "Once you've freshened up, please join us downstairs."

The door closed behind them and Timothy surveyed the suite of rooms. It was quite beautiful - and also quite obviously a couple's room. Timothy looked at the double bed, then at the sofa, and said, "You're sleeping on the couch."

Donald gave a mock-tragic sigh. "The honeymoon is definitely over." He crossed to the window and looked out. "Good view of the back patio where the party is going to be; I'll be able to watch for anyone trying to mess with the set-up. And with the room at the top of the stairs, I'll be able to hear anyone sneaking around at night."

Timothy watched as Donald went through his paces, impressed and not a little turned on by his brisk professional tone. "Are you planning to stay up all night?"

"If necessary." He turned back to the room. "I'm used to getting by on little sleep. But first I want to get a look at the lay of the land, so to speak, so let's get cleaned up and head downstairs."

 

*****************

For the rest of the evening, Timothy followed Donald and provided the occasional distraction as Donald checked out the lay of the rooms downstairs, tested the windows, and surveyed the locks on the exterior doors. He and Michael had a hurried conference, after which the younger Kerrigan looked much more at ease.

Once they were back in their room, Timothy changed into his pajamas in the bathroom while Donald changed in the bedroom. "So, what do you think? Any more ideas?"

"About who's responsible?" Donald called back. "No. But the place is secure so I won't have to sit up tonight. If anything is going to be done, it'll happen tomorrow night at the party. I'll need to ditch the afternoon fun and games so I can keep an eye on the set-up here. Can you cover for me?"

"I'll do my best."

Timothy brushed his teeth, thinking about possibilities as he did, but he still couldn't think of anyone who could be behind this. He gave up the bathroom to Donald, who apparently slept in sweats (and tried not to notice how good Donald looked in them), and crawled into bed. Donald seemed to have hurried through his nighttime routine because a short time later, Timothy was lying in the dark and looking up at the ceiling, wondering what would have happened if his blind date had shown up.

He was absurdly glad that he hadn't. He decided he'd tell Donald that the next day, as soon as he got a chance.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

There wasn't an opportunity the next morning, though, as Donald was already gone when Timothy woke up. He'd left a pot of coffee of the nightstand, though, and Timothy thought very charitable thoughts about the detective as he sipped a cup in bed.

By the time he got downstairs, it appeared that most of the guests were there, milling around the main salon. Timothy recognized a few people from the gay and/or political scenes in Albany and exchanged nods and polite greetings, but there wasn't any sign of Donald. It looked like he was getting an early start on his surveillance, so Timothy shifted into cover-mode.

While he was making the rounds, he wasn't surprised to see Mrs. Kerrigan bearing down on him, although this time she was towing a young brunette woman with her.

"Timothy! Do you know Nina Fowler, Congressman George Fowler's daughter? She and Michael were great friends when they were little, weren't you, dear?"

Nina laughed at this. " _Best friends_. Our parents used to say that one day we'd get married." She shrugged. "Of course, that was before we knew about Michael."

"Michael and Nina and Nathan - that's her twin brother - practically grew up together," Mrs. Kerrigan said to Timothy. "George and my Patrick were best friends for years; we spent nearly all of the holidays together. They had a falling out over some political matter or another just before Patrick's death, but Nina and Michael have remained fast friends. Isn't that right, dear?"

"That's me and Michael - friends through thick and thin. And you are...?"

"Where are my manners?" Mrs. Kerrigan said with a laugh. "Nina, this is Timothy Callahan, Senator Callahan's son? You might have seen him at some of the family functions, even if his father is on the other side of the aisle."

Nina smiled and shook hands with Timothy. "Tim Callahan, of course. The last I heard, you'd entered the seminary. I don't see a collar - or are you out for a day on the town?"

Timothy smiled and shook his head. "I left the seminary before taking vows. I couldn't continue living in the closet."

"So are you here with anyone?"

"Timothy's just married a lovely young man." Mrs. Kerrigan looked around the room. "I don't see Donald anywhere."

Thinking quickly, Timothy said, "Donald woke with a migraine this morning and he's resting in our room. Hopefully, he'll be able to join us before too long."

Nina's eyes had narrowed slightly but she smiled politely and said, "I hope you'll introduce us later, then."

Timothy nodded and made his escape on the pretense of getting another cup of coffee. It wasn't until nearly time for the party before he finally ran Donald to ground, though. And since his first sight of Donald was in a very nice tux, it took him a few minutes before he could recall what he wanted to say. Donald had been running over what he'd learned aloud - which wasn't much - so Timothy managed to recover but he was aware that he was still flushed. He hoped that Donald didn't notice.

When Donald finished reporting his findings, Timothy said, "I may have another candidate for your list of suspects. Nina Fowler. Apparently, she and Michael were an item at one time, until he came out of the closet. She seemed to be okay with it, but we all know that adage about a woman scorned."

Donald frowned a little. "But what would be the point? Breaking up the party wouldn't get Michael back, and it would cause her family embarrassment."

Timothy sighed. "You're right. Congressman Fowler is facing a tough opponent for the next election in Assemblywoman Glassman, and they wouldn't risk anything that would lose him votes. I must admit, Donald, I'm completely stumped. Could it be a hoax? Could someone just be playing a rather un-funny practical joke?"

"Anything's possible," Donald said with a sigh. "The only thing we can do is keep our ears and eyes open."

 

*****************

The garden had been transformed by an army of workmen during the day, with a bandstand and dance floor set up at one end, surrounded by a sea of small tables. Timothy found that he and Donald had been seated at a table with Nina, Michael, and two men who were introduced as Nina's twin brother, Nathan, and Michael's current boyfriend, Paul. Mrs. Kerrigan didn't appear to be seated anywhere, as she flitted from one table to another, performing introductions and exhorting couples to dance. The birthday boy was in great demand as a dance partner, which Paul didn't seem to mind as he explained that they were more casual lovers than a steady couple, having met through their work with ESPA. Timothy would have loved to have discussed the Pride movement with Paul, but Nina and Nathan looked uncomfortable any time politics was mentioned. That left only safe topics such as the weather, the party, and the upcoming races at Saratoga, and once those subjects were exhausted, an uncomfortable silence fell over the table.

Nina broke the silence first, as she turned to Timothy and asked, "So, Tim, how did you and Donald meet? At work? And what, exactly, do you do, Donald?"

Timothy had never been good at lies, and he took refuge in the truth. "It was a blind date."

Donald smiled and reached over, laying his hand on Timothy's. "All my friend Pete would tell me was that the guy had nice eyes and a great personality, so you can imagine what I was expecting. And then Timmy walked in and I thought 'Wow! This cannot be him.' Lucky for me, it was." He lifted Timothy's hand and kissed the back of it.

"I see you chose to wear your rings on your right hands," Paul said. "Rejecting traditional marriage symbols, or is it some kind of statement?"

Timothy had wondered about that, but it was Donald's show so he'd followed his lead. Now he was surprised to see Donald flush and tilt up his chin to meet the implied challenge.

"I'm not rejecting anything. I'd love to be able to put this ring on his left hand, just like any other couple, and have it mean exactly the same thing. I'd like to be able to stand up in front of my friends, and say those vows to the man I love, and have them mean more than just pretty words between us. I'd like to know that no bigoted asshole can keep me out of my husband's hospital room, and that the person deciding whether I live or die is the man I married, not my old man who kicked me to the curb when I came out. And I don't want to have to go to another country to get married, not when I've fought and bled for this one. So yeah, it's a statement, and I'm proud to have Timmy wearing my ring, but I'll be even prouder on the day when I can put it where it belongs."

There was silence for a moment, broken by clapping as Michael dropped into his chair. "Well said! You should take notes, Paul - or maybe we should get Donald into politics. What do you say, Tim?"

Timothy stared at Donald, wide-eyed at the vehement words that had poured out of him. He had thought of the detective as cynical and hard-boiled, like the ones in stories and on film, maybe getting worked up about justice or murder, but not something like this. "Donald..." he began in a voice that cracked with emotion, then gave it up and leaned over to give him a kiss. He felt Donald's surprise, hesitation, and then he responded by kissing Timothy back.

"Look at our little lovebirds!" Mrs. Kerrigan said, nearly pouncing on their table. Timothy broke away from the kiss, blushing bright red as part of him regretted the interruption while the rest of him wondered what in hell he was thinking. "I have yet to see you on the dance floor, Tim! Or you, Donald!"

Timothy looked for a graceful way out, but Mrs. Kerrigan was beaming and gesturing for them to get up, so he sighed and took Donald's hand. "Do you know how to dance?" he asked, quietly, as they joined the others on the floor.

"Does a basic box dance learned for the sixth grade dance count?"

Timothy tried not to sigh and winced at the thought of his poor toes. "I'll lead," he murmured, taking Donald into his arms. "All you have to do is follow."

The band struck up into the opening phrase of "I Have Dreamed" and Donald looked pleasantly surprised. "Hey, I know this one! It was in that movie where Michael Douglas is the president. He was hot."

Timothy rolled his eyes. "It's from 'The King and I'," he reminded Donald.

"I don't like musicals."

Timothy nearly stopped in his tracks in shock. "Are you sure you're gay?"

Donald gave him one of those 'don't be an idiot' looks that he was starting to recognize. "Hello? Michael Douglas - hot?"

Timothy couldn't help smiling even as he shook his head, but that seemed to have broken the ice. Donald was relaxed in his arms, following his lead as if they'd been doing this for years. He was surprised at how natural it felt, how easily they moved together. If he'd been given to romantic notions, he'd have said that Donald just _fit_ , as if they'd been made for each other. Especially when Donald put his head on his shoulder and moved closer; he tightened his embrace and Donald turned his head, his lips close to Timothy's ear.

"Looks like it was a hoax after all."

He didn't know what he'd been expecting Donald to whisper, but that certainly wasn't it. For a moment he was at a loss, and then he recalled that this was just a pretense in order to protect a dear, sweet lady.

Except it didn't feel like pretense.

He drew in a deep breath, refocusing his attention on the case instead of the man in his arms. "A hoax? Are you certain?"

"Can't be positive, not until the party is over, but I haven't seen anything unusual," Donald murmured, and Timothy shivered as his breath tickled his ear. "The caterer is the same one she's used for years, no problems with them and no changes in staff. The guests are all friends and most have been coming to these parties for years. The few new people check out. The house and gardens are secure. If this isn't a hoax, then I'm damned if I know what they're up to."

Donald lifted his head as he said that, his face close to Timothy's as he stared up at him, a worried look in his eyes. Timothy had the sudden urge to kiss him again, to erase away the frown line between his eyes. Donald's eyes were shadowed, and Timothy felt guilty for making him sleep on the couch last night. It must not have been very comfortable, and even if Donald was accustomed to couches (as it appeared that he slept on the one in his office), Timothy should have let him have at least one comfortable night's sleep in his bed. The suite's bed, _not_ his own bed, he hastily corrected himself, but the sudden image of Donald sprawled naked on crisp white sheets had taken hold and refused to be dismissed.

He could feel himself growing flushed and saw the worry in Donald's eyes increase. "Timmy? Are you all right?" His eyes widened. "Maybe there's something in the food after all, or someone put something in your drink."

Timothy shook his head. "No, I'm fine, just a little overheated from the dancing." The thought of how much he'd love to get overheated from another form of exercise made him flush even more, and to his horror, he could feel himself hardening. He was suddenly desperate to get away, before Donald noticed. "I'll just go up to our - my - our room and lie down."

Donald followed him back to the table. "Are you sure, Timmy? Do you want me to go with you?"

"No!" Timothy blurted out, then said, more quietly, "No, I'll be fine. The party's nearly over; you might as well enjoy the end of it."

He watched Donald bite his lip, obviously torn between his investigative duties and the role as concerned husband. He leaned over and kissed Donald quickly, for the benefit of those watching them. "Please stay, sweetheart. I'd feel worse, knowing I'd dragged you away."

Donald nodded, but that frown line was back, and Timothy mentally kicked himself even as he fled upstairs.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Going about his normal bedtime routine calmed both Timothy's nerves and libido. By the time he settled down on the couch with his blanket and pillow, he was tired enough to actually contemplate sleep. That is, until he tried to find a comfortable sleeping position. The couch was hard and too short for him to stretch out on. He managed a somewhat tolerable curl on his side and was finally nodding off when the door slowly opened and footsteps crossed the floor toward the bedroom.

"Timmy?"

Timothy sat up and snapped on the light. "Here."

Donald was standing in the doorway to the bedroom and he turned to give Timothy a confused look. "Why are you lying on my couch?"

Timothy shrugged, feeling self-conscious now that they were face to face, alone. "I thought we'd take turns. You could use a good night's sleep - I don't know how you managed on this thing. It's horrible."

"I'm shorter than you so it's not so bad. You take the bed; I'm used to lumpy couches."

Timothy hesitated and then said, "We could both sleep in the bed."

Donald frowned. "That bed is a bit small for two grown men to share comfortably, not without getting extremely cozy."

"I wouldn't mind."

Donald looked at him in surprise, and Timothy blushed but met his curious stare head on. "I don't think that's a good idea, Timmy," Donald said slowly. "Yeah, I've had plenty of one night stands, but I don't think that's your style."

Timothy bristled slightly. "I've had plenty of one night stands!" Donald tilted down his chin and gave him an interrogating look, and he caved. "All right; I've had a couple. But I'm old enough to know my own mind, and I want this. I want _you_." He tossed aside the blanket and got up from the couch, crossing the room to stand in front of Donald. "Unless you don't want _me_?"

Donald groaned, closing his eyes and covering his face with his hand. "Not fair, Timmy! I've wanted you since the first time I saw you. Why do you think I drank so much on our second date? I was sure you'd say that you didn't want to come with me this weekend."

"You didn't look worried when you were flirting with that biker," Timothy said dryly.

Donald gave him a blank look. "What biker?"

"Young? Cute? Dressed in leather? Was hanging all over you when I came back from that phone call?"

Donald rolled his eyes. "He was a _kid_ , a friend of a friend, and we were just talking."

"Right."

"Why would I want _him_ when I was there with the best looking man in the place?"

Timothy blinked. "You were? I was?"

"Yes," Donald said, moving closer and taking Timothy in his arms. "I was and you were. You're also the best looking man at this party."

He leaned forward, obviously intending to kiss Timothy, but his words reminded him of why they were there. "The party!" Timothy said, pulling slightly away. "Is it over? Is everything all right?"

Donald sighed and pulled Timothy close again. "First rule of detective work: there is a time and place for everything. And this, Timothy Callahan, is not the time nor the place for shop talk."

Timothy couldn't help smiling at that. "Really? Then what is it the time and place for?"

"This."

Timothy willingly surrendered to Donald's embrace, returning his kiss with enthusiasm and rising passion. He was usually a methodical, tidy man, even when undressing a lover, but tonight he quickly stripped Donald of his clothes, letting them land in an untidy heap on the floor. His own pajamas were swiftly disposed of, and then they were tumbling back onto the bed in a passionate tangle....

 

*****************

Timothy woke to the sensation of a pleasantly sated body and the sound of light snoring.

Disoriented, he looked first around the unfamiliar room and then at his sleeping bed-partner, and a smile curved his lips. Donald was curled up against him, looking remarkably young and innocent, given what he'd done to Timothy body last night. He had expected that Donald's preferred style would be quick and hot and dirty, and maybe a bit rough. Reality had been a far cry from that. Donald had been both gentle and sensual, taking the time to learn all of his erotic places with both hands and lips. He'd coaxed Timothy's body to hitherto unknown heights of pleasure, till he was begging, before settling on top of his body, their cocks aligned as he'd reclaimed Timothy's mouth for searing hot kisses. Timothy had wrapped his arms around Donald's body to pull them tighter together as he thrust up against his lover, their cocks moving in concert together. He had moaned his surrender and climax into Donald's mouth, and had shivered with satisfaction as Donald had cried out his name as he came.

He would have liked to have woken Donald for another round, and perhaps check to see if their hostess had stocked the bedside table with lube and condoms (although the thought made Timothy blush), but his partner was so obviously exhausted that he decided to let him sleep. Instead, he eased out from under the covers, grabbed a change of clothing (after tidying up Donald's discarded suit), and headed into the shower.

Donald was still sleeping when he went back into the bedroom, so he decided to go downstairs and see if there was any coffee. He had a feeling that Donald would like a cup, and then perhaps they could see what else developed. Lost in pleasant thoughts as he made his way downstairs, Timothy was unaware that there was someone else up early, someone quietly moving up behind him. And then something hit him hard on the back of the head, and he was unaware of anything at all.

 


	6. Chapter 6

His head hurt like it hadn't since the one time he'd gotten drunk on champagne at a New Year's Eve party, and he groaned and tried to reach up to rub it. His arms wouldn't move, though, and he blinked open his eyes to try to figure out what he'd done to himself. The room was unfamiliar, and dark, although he could see bits of sunshine coming through the slats that seemed to make up the walls. That woke him up a bit more, and he realized two things: one, he was not in his room, and two, he was sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair with his arms tied behind his back.

"You're awake," said a vaguely familiar woman's voice nearby. "I was afraid that Nathan had hit you too hard."

He turned his head, wincing at the pain, and saw Nina Fowler sitting in a metal lawn chair across from him, calmly smoking a cigarette. "What...? Where am I?"

"Storage room under the gazebo," she said, stubbing out the cigarette under her heel. "Michael and I used to play here when we were kids. Convenient - no one but the gardener ever comes near here, and he doesn't work on Sundays. Inconvenient for you, though; by the time anyone thinks to look for you here, we'll be gone."

"Then you _are_ the one who sent those threatening notes!"

Nina's eyes narrowed. "I _told_ Nathan that there was something odd about you, and that guy you pretend is your husband. What are you, police?"

A voice in his head cautioned him against telling her that he was only along to provide cover for Donald. "Something like that," he said. He tried to work at the ropes around his wrists but either Nina was an expert knot-maker, or it looked easier in the movies than it was in real life.

"We'll have to dispose of you, then, and Strachey, too," she said briskly. "Car accident will do the trick, and plenty of places along the way back to Albany."

Timothy gaped at her, unable to comprehend the matter-of-fact way she talked about killing him. "Why? What on earth do you hope to gain from this? Mrs. Kerrigan already had her party, despite your threats."

Nina smirked. "Of course she did. I knew that was just the sort of thing to put her back up, make her go all out for darling Michael's birthday party, turn it into a weekend event instead of just one night."

Timothy's head ached but he didn't think that was keeping him from figuring out what was going on. "I don't understand. Why send the notes if you _wanted_ her to have the party?"

The door to the storeroom swung open, abruptly, and to Timothy's surprise, Donald stood there, the sun streaming in behind him and making him look larger than life.

"Because she and her brother needed to search the house, and what better time than early Sunday morning, when everyone else is sleeping off the party," Donald said. "Isn't that right, Miss Fowler?"

She reached for one of the gardening implements behind her, but Donald raised a gun and pointed it at her. "I wouldn't do that. The police are here and they already have your brother in custody. The game's over."

Nina scowled but didn't put up a struggle as a uniformed officer entered the gazebo and took her by the arm. Donald holstered his gun and came over to Timothy, quickly freeing him from the ropes.

"Are you all right, Timmy?" he asked anxiously, chaffing his hands to restore the circulation.

"Just a bit of a headache from where one of them - Nathan, I think - hit me," Timothy said, wincing as he was finally able to touch his aching head.

Donald tilted his head up, checking his pupils with a practiced air. "I don't think you have a concussion, but you should get checked out at the hospital, just in case." He helped Timothy up, bracing him with a strong arm around his waist. "We'd better get back to the house; Mrs. Kerrigan was frantic when she found out you were missing." He paused, then added in a low, intimate tone, "She wasn't the only one. When I woke up and couldn't find you..."

"I just wanted some coffee," Timothy said with a sigh as he let Donald guide him out of the gazebo and across the lawn toward the house.

"You must have surprised them. Nina and Nathan probably thought everyone would be sleeping in after the party; even the staff had been given the morning off."

"But what were they looking for?"

"Documents in Senator Kerrigan's possession, evidently," Donald said, "since they were looking through the papers in his desk. Nothing was missing from his senate office, so no one had reason to look through his papers until now, and Mrs. Kerrigan was getting ready to donate them to the state's archives. It must have been something that would ruin Congressman Fowler's re-election chances. Mrs. Kerrigan told you that her husband and Nina's father had a falling out shortly before his death. Fowler must have told one of his children about it and they came up with this plan."

Timothy gave Donald an admiring look. "You put that all together from little things you heard and observed? You really are a good detective!"

Donald grinned at him. "Did you ever doubt me?"

"No, I didn't," Timothy said seriously. "And you rescued me, too. My hero."

Donald's cocky smile faded into something softer, more vulnerable. Timothy was going to lean forward and give him a kiss, a proper hero's reward, but at that moment Mrs. Kerrigan bustled up with Michael behind her.

"I can't believe it!" Mrs. Kerrigan said. "Little Nina and her brother, ransacking my house! And now Michael says that his father had proof that George Fowler was involved in some sort of cover-up! And he says that _you're_ the one who figured it all out, Donald. I declare, I don't know if I'm standing on my feet or my head!"

"It's true, Mrs. Kerrigan," Donald said soberly. "I'm a private detective, and your son hired me to find out who was sending those threatening letters, to stop them if I could, and keep anything from happening at your party." He glanced at Timothy and added, "And Timmy and I aren't married; we aren't even dating. We met by accident, at the restaurant, and Timmy agreed to pretend that we were together, so I would have a reason to be here this weekend."

Mrs. Kerrigan looked somewhat crushed by this news, and when she glanced at Timothy for confirmation, he nodded and said, "I'm sorry for the deception. Donald - we thought it was better if you didn't know the truth."

She nodded and turned back to Donald, reaching out to pat his cheek affectionately. "You are a very dear boy, and even though you and Timothy have been very naughty, deceiving me like that, I forgive you. And I expect to see you both at Michael's birthday party next year."

She turned to Timothy and wagged her finger at him. "As for you, Timothy Callahan - you're a fool if you let this one get away from you!" She kissed his cheek and then headed off towards the police officer who was waiting to take her statement.

Timothy stood there, staring after her in bemusement, and then turned to Donald. The detective was watching him, a hooded look in his eyes that Timothy couldn't interpret, and he looked away.

"Well, Timothy Callahan, I guess this is it. The police are waiting for me to give them a statement, and they'll want to talk to you, too." He held out his hand, saying with obvious sincerity, "Thanks. I never would have solved this case without your help."

Timothy started to take his hand; the light glinted off the ring on his right hand and he slowly pulled it off, then handed it to Donald. "It was fun - except for the kidnapping and potential concussion, of course."

Donald grinned. "Don't forget to have the hospital check that out."

"I will."

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Donald stuffed his hands into his pockets and jerked his head towards the police. "I should go. I'll be riding back with the arresting officers to fill in the details."

Timothy nodded. "I'll pack your things, have them dropped off at your office."

Donald nodded and turned to leave, and Timothy heard Mrs. Kerrigan's voice echoing in his head, telling him not to be a fool.

"Donald, wait!"

Donald turned back, looking at him inquiringly. Timothy didn't know if he was imagining it, but he thought that there was a hopeful look in his eyes.

"Maybe, if you'd like, _I_ could drop your bag off at your office? And if you're not too busy, we could go out for drinks and dinner, or maybe a movie?"

"I'd like that," Donald said. "I'd like that a lot." He pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked at something in it, then slowly walked back over to him. Timothy looked down and saw the ring he'd been wearing resting in Donald's palm, touching the one Donald was still wearing. He looked up and Timothy met his eyes, held his breath.

"I liked last night," Donald said. "The dancing and...later. And I liked seeing you wear this. Maybe one day we could wear them for real?"

Timothy smiled and laid his hand over Donald's palm, feeling the edge of the ring press against his skin. It felt natural, _right_ , standing there, holding Donald's hand, seeing that look of hope and joy dawn in his eyes as Timothy leaned forward to brush their lips together.

"I think I'd like that, too."

The End


End file.
